A Little Bit of Charm (4 page)

“Nice try, but Cinderella had a fairy godmother with one of those handy wands. I leave for college on Sunday. I'll come home on weekends to give tours if the demand remains high, but I really don't want to.” Her smile faded. “Competition is tough to get into vet school, and I'll need to maintain my grade point average. I would hate having to leave campus every weekend.”

Jake's stomach wrenched with guilt and disappointment. “Am I the only one who wants this? I thought we were in agreement when we had Pretty in Pink bred with a horse with champion bloodlines.”

Jessie softened. “We are in agreement, big brother. I would love to go to the Derby as an owner. I would even go out and buy one of those fancy hats, but there's a limit to what this family can do, especially with me in college. Payments would have to be made on that second mortgage. We can't tell the bank to patiently wait to see if the colt finishes in the money. I wish Keeley was old enough to take over the tours, but she still can't remember the details. Who wants to listen to a guide who says ‘and stuff like that' every other sentence?” Jessie swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand.

“If I have to take a night job away from the farm to help pay training expenses, I will. This is our only shot.” Jake resumed mucking out the stall with renewed energy. “Please take my side during the next family business meeting. Otherwise I'll be outvoted.”

Jessie sighed. “All right, Jake. I'll vote with you, but you'd better come up with a plan that doesn't involve finding a magic wand in the oat bin.”

“I plan to say plenty of prayers between now and the meeting.”

“Down on your knees in prayer?” She raised a skeptical brow.

“As you can see, I'm desperate.”

She smiled with tenderness. “He hears the pleas of the desperate. I hope He'll also like our motives as well.” Jessie picked up the handles of the garden cart and wheeled it toward the door.

Jake was left wondering if God cared one iota about the outcome of a horse race.

TWO

That saved a wretch like me

I
t was dark by the time Rachel arrived at Stolls' Free-to-Roam Chicken Farm. The hired driver dropped her off in the driveway turnaround, accepted payment, and lifted her bag from the trunk. A mercury vapor light burned in the barn's eave, casting a yellow circle of light on the yard.

“What if they're not here?” asked Michelle. “Maybe I'd better wait to make sure.” She stepped into her van but rolled down the window.

“I'm certain they are home. I wrote that I was coming. Maybe they already went to bed.” Rachel waved goodbye to her before climbing the steps to the porch, dragging her heavy suitcase. Just as she opened the screen door, lights snapped on inside the kitchen.

The sweet face of her cousin Sarah appeared in the doorway. “There you are at long last. I'd given up hope for tonight. I'm sure you're exhausted. Are you also hungry?”

Rachel felt her stiff muscles relax with the warm welcome. “I am tired but not hungry, and I'm very glad to be here. When I saw
no light on in the house, I thought
grossmammi
was wrong about your using electricity.”

Sarah released her and tugged the suitcase from her grip. “No, our grandmother was right. I'm Old Order Mennonite now since my marriage to Isaac Stoll. We have electricity to our homes, besides our business, but we don't like running up the bill for no good reason. I had dozed off in the chair. Don't need lights to do that. I have a phone too.” She pointed to a cordless phone sitting in the charger on the countertop. “And Isaac and I both have cell phones.”

“Do you have a car too?” Rachel's tone revealed her excitement at the prospect of coming and going more easily and quickly, and without having to pay a driver.

“No, we have a horse and buggy, same as you. Our district farms with draft horses too. No tractors or combines. Each conservative Mennonite district decides how much technology to use. If you drive over to Barren and Hart Counties, you'll see their members using every sort of conveyance except for motorcycles.”

Rachel blinked, stifling a yawn. “What county is this?”

“Casey, but there will be time enough to learn the ins and outs once you're rested. Let me show you to your room. Isaac is already sawing logs. He gets up before dawn and needs his beauty sleep.” Sarah flicked on a low-wattage bulb at the top of the narrow staircase. She left her kitchen pitch dark—no night-light for midnight refrigerator raids.

Rachel climbed the wooden steps as quietly as possible, pondering Sarah's expression. “Oh, you mean your husband snores. I've never heard it put that way, but I'm familiar with snoring, having shared a room with Beth my entire life.”

“If you happen to hear it through the walls, a chainsaw will definitely come to mind.” Sarah swept open a bedroom door. “This room will be yours for as long as you like.” She set Rachel's suitcase
on the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. “How old is your baby sister now—twelve, thirteen? I'll bet she didn't want to go back to Pennsylvania alone.”

Rachel hesitated before answering as she assessed the small, tidy room. It contained more furniture than an Amish bedroom, and used a closet instead of wall pegs for clothes, but it was still austere by English standards. “Though Beth is fourteen now, she seems younger. I think she needs more time with our grandmother and aunt, but I told her she could visit someday.” Rachel bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed hard.
Maybe Sarah expects this to be only a short visit
.

Sarah nodded in apparent agreement. Then she said, “Everything in here is self-explanatory. The bathroom is down the hall, and another one is downstairs off the kitchen. Breakfast is at eight after the first round of chores, but feel free to sleep late tomorrow. I know how tiring travel can be.” With a final smile at her young cousin, she marched from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Rachel lowered herself to the bed, barely able to contain her excitement. She was in Blue Grass country. And she had no one to take care of but herself.

The next morning Rachel was unpacked and waiting in the kitchen when Sarah and Isaac returned from the barn. Sarah made introductions, even though Rachel had met Isaac Stoll twice before. He was a man of few words. He grunted a
welcum
, ate his toast and cinnamon oatmeal, drank two cups of coffee, and then headed out the door.

“Don't worry about him. He doesn't say much even to folks he's known his whole life. After we finish I'll give you a tour. Free of
charge,” Sarah added with a wink. She then divided the remaining oatmeal between two bowls as though leftovers were unheard of.

After consuming as much as she could of her second portion, Rachel discreetly scraped the remaining cereal into the trash while Sarah filled a sink with suds for dishes. The tour of the chicken farm lasted longer and smelled worse than Rachel had expected. However, the size of the humane operation, with birds free to scratch around in grass and dirt and coming and going by ramps to their nesting boxes, was quite impressive. The Stolls had several barns with huge, fenced outdoor pens.

“Our eggs and hens are finally fetching a decent price now that we're certified organic. We grow our own feed with no pesticide or herbicide residue on our crops. No tight cages where a poor bird spends its whole life unable to turn around or get any sunshine. Who would want to stand on wire mesh all day? Our way creates a challenge to keep the farm clean, but that's why we move the flocks around between pens. We can clean up properly and let the grass recover in certain areas.” Pausing, she crossed her arms and gazed over a particularly active flock of chickens. “Have you ever seen prettier or happier birds?”

Rachel laughed. “No, cousin, I have not.” She decided not to mention that her favorite view of a chicken involved celery, onions, and dumplings.

“Isaac and I have built quite a business for ourselves. I'm not saying that to brag, but merely to express sheer surprise over our good fortune.” Sarah went to a chicken pen, opened the gate, and motioned for Rachel to follow her. “Step lively now, before they stage the great escape. You must come with me if you want to see inside. And don't worry. We use highly efficient fans. It's not hot at all in our barns.”

Heat wasn't high on Rachel's list of fears. It seemed that half the hens were eyeing her slyly from one of their tiny eyes, as though
she were a fox come to steal their eggs or babies. But because she knew of Sarah's vocation before arriving in Charm, Rachel bravely marched into the pen and closed the gate behind her.

“That's better. At first we concentrated on selling cage-free eggs.” Sarah resumed her narrative. “We built up a customer base at local stores. Many people who truly like eggs are willing to pay extra for the superior taste of organic. Plus our browns are higher in omega-3 and folic acid, and they have less saturated fat. Nothing bad is hidden in our yolks, ready to do a person bodily harm in old age, except maybe a little cholesterol.”

Rachel gingerly moved through the flock, careful where she stepped to avoid scat. Midway to the barn she noticed the birds opening a path for Sarah, like the Red Sea parting for the Israelites, but then they closed ranks behind her. Again, several pairs of eyes contained an evil glint. Rachel hurried to stay on Sarah's heels to prevent separation from her source of safety. “I love omelets and fried egg sandwiches,” she said, eager to make conversation. “And I've been known to take deviled eggs to potluck socials many a time.”

Sarah turned on her heel, causing Rachel to smack into her. “Do you mix sweet pickle relish and horseradish in with your egg yolks?”

“Of course,” she said, grateful their grandmother had taught their
mamms
the same recipe.

Sarah slid back the steel barn door. “In that case, we'll get along just fine.” She gestured inside. “Welcome to my world.”

Because Rachel wanted nothing better than to stay in Charm, she stepped inside a noisy barn that, despite an odd odor, was surprisingly clean and orderly. Hens clucked contentedly atop nests, keeping eggs warm until they could be collected and refrigerated. “Where's the rooster?” she asked, surveying the area.

“Not with this flock. I'm not interested in fertilized eggs. In
another barn, where we have brooding hens, it's a different story. Don't worry; we're not that high-tech. You'll still be awakened at dawn by the crow of roosters, in case you miss home.” Sarah giggled and then explained about their egg sorting machine in detail.

Rachel's sinuses began to run, but she listened attentively and tried to ask appropriate questions. “When did you expand the business from organic eggs to free-to-roam chickens?”

“A few years ago, when horror stories hit the newspapers and television about antibiotics, growth hormones, and whatnot in the food industry, a lot of folks became interested in natural meat, especially for their children. Louisville, Lexington, Bowling Green, and even Somerset grocery stores started selling free-range meat. We took out a farm loan, enlarged our facilities, and never once regretted the decision.”

Rachel sneezed.

“
Gott segne dich
. Let's walk outside.” Outdoors, Sarah continued her saga. “Now restaurants are jumping on the bandwagon. I suppose if those upscale places dare to charge twenty bucks for a chicken breast with a few roasted spuds, they had better have something special to say on the menu. We can't keep up with the demand from Louisville.” Sarah rested her hands on her hips. “I'm sorry if I sound prideful. I'll return to my humble self tomorrow.”

Already Rachel loved her chatty, forthright cousin. “Folks are permitted to boast during a tour. It's expected.” However, a sharp pecking on her tennis shoe was not. She glared down at an irate hen who apparently had an intense dislike for white leather footwear. Rachel moved back, giving the creature plenty of room to maneuver. But the chicken didn't wish to scratch the dirt for fallen corn. Instead, she strutted forward with a mean glint and resumed pecking at Rachel's foot. She even caught Rachel's ankle bone and broke the skin.

“
Ouch!
”

“Mabel, stop that!” scolded Sarah. She swept the fat bird into her arms. “Mabel has never done that before.”